


Who Killed The Director?

by miss_butterfly_soup



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Internalized Homophobia, Minor Character Death, Multi, Murder Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Period Typical Bigotry, Period-Typical Abelism, Period-Typical Sexism, Trauma, mention of eugenics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:41:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26539756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_butterfly_soup/pseuds/miss_butterfly_soup
Summary: What do a junior detective, a European countess, a Hollywood starlet, and a reluctant charity case have in common? Their time is up. It's 1926 on Hollywood Boulevard, and there's a killer on the loose.Cross-posted on Tumblr at @homestuckheadcanonymous
Relationships: Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas, Eridan Ampora/Feferi Peixes, John Egbert/Terezi Pyrope, Sollux Captor/Feferi Peixes, The Disciple/The Signless | The Sufferer
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

In John Egbert's defence, it was all supposed to be another simple case. A call, late at night- a messy crime scene- a simple motive- then, at the end of it, enough hush-money in his pocket for a little treat at the end of the month. A classic Hollywood case- the specialty of Egbert Investigations. It was a chilly night on the evening that our story begins- as cold as a California winter could get.  
Movie director Jack Noir was dead- and according to his smashed windows and head, murdered. John had never liked messy crime scenes, and this was one of the bloodiest he'd seen in a while. The body's only identifiers were its clothes and the fact that it couldn't have been anybody else anyways- the room was too splattered in blood from the beating to check very much. It was all, he thought, was needed- faked deaths and switched corpses were something out of his sister Jane's dime-novel mysteries, not something that happened here.  
She, of course, would have checked- Jane had always been the best detective in the family, always drawn to mystery and intrigue. She would have certainly been a better detective than him, although that wouldn't take much. Still, that was the way it went- eventually, Janey'd left home and married a millionaire, and he was stuck living at home, being the state's worst private investigator to carry on a legacy. And now, eyes searching his half-written case file, he realized that he'd only found three suspects- and he had connections to each one.  
Three motives. Three alibis. Three friends. If he didn't already wish Janey had become the detective, he sure did now. John Egbert was starting to get the sinister suspicion that this might not be an easy case after all.

## Classified Files of Egbert Investigations

December 10, 1925  
An excerpt from the case file of Jack Noir

Suspect One: Roxanne Marie Lalonde  
Miss Lalonde is an actress- a Hollywood starlet, to be more specific. Both she and her half-brother have had feuds with the victim in the past. The night before the murder, she was spotted storming off of set from his studio. The suspect states she was with a friend the night of the murder- Miss Calliope Cherubim. We've already contacted Miss Cherubim to request that she verify these claims, but we are still awaiting a response.  
Additional Notes: _Roxy couldn't hurt a fly- I've seen her try to do it- and Callie can barely leave the house with her brother's fits, much less attend a trial as an alibi witness. Roxy's my ex-sweetheart, and one of my best friends. I just hope for her sake that she didn't do it._ -John Egbert

Suspect Two: Terezi Pyrope  
Miss Pyrope is a resident of Holy Dolorosa's Home for the Infirm due to her blindness and status as an orphaned young lady of proper bringing-up. Miss Pyrope is trying to continue her mother's legacy as a crime reporter, and Jack Noir has remained public with his distaste for the writing of Mrs. Redglare Pyrope long after her death, something considered a disgrace to the Pyrope legacy. Miss Pyrope states that she could not have left the Holy Dolorosa's Home without detection, as she must remain on the grounds or with a chaperone at all times. However, an eyewitness report from Miss Nepeta Leijon states that the window of her room had been left open that evening.  
Additional Notes: _Of course she could have left- this is Terezi we're talking about! And "A young lady of proper bringing-up"? I don't know what standards you're going by, but if propriety is the standard of a lady, she's King Henry the Eighth! I really don't think she did it, though- she's always wanted to build her own fate rather than sustain a legacy. In her mind, the dead don't need defending, and neither does she. Plus, I hate to admit it, but I'd dread the loss of her company in the evenings._ -John Egbert

Suspect Three: Feferi Peixes  
Countess Peixes is a city-hopping European socialite, although she is currently staying in her Los Angeles residence. She has had many disagreements with Jack Noir in the past, including his controversial push for the removal of City Council support for Holy Dolorosa's Home for the Infirm, which she recently spoke out against. She was seen walking with a mysterious fellow in a worn coat down the street of the studio that evening. Witness reports also state that that evening, she left a charity gala early under unknown circumstances, and returned home late that night.

Additional notes: _I'll admit, I don't know Feferi well, but I've met her a few times, and she and Janey are close, if a bit catty at times. Even if she's a bit naive, she really is a sweetheart- not the kind of gal you can see bludgeoning a fellow's head in. The walking's odd, I'll admit that, but that seems less like a plot and more like a love affair. Too bad it's still a closed case- Rose'd have a field day with that story for sure._ -John Egbert

Though he did not know it at the time, dear reader, John's suspicions were correct- this would be no ordinary case. The strings of fate are always knotting, intertwining with those around us, but when tragedy strikes, we must unravel them- such is the fate of those left behind. Change is a fickle thing by nature, but it brings both good and bad- time will tell where that balance lies for our heroes, waiting unaware. Perhaps I, too, will be dragged into this fate- I am more character than a creator in this tale. That is the way, I suppose, it always goes.  
Signed, your loving author-  
W.Q. Skaia


	2. Chapter 2

This was quite possibly the worst day of Karkat Vantas's life. He comes into his job after having a terrible time getting ready. He's planning for another day constantly rewriting scripts at the demand of his horrible boss, only to find out that no _,_ actually, he _can't ,_ because his boss was MURDERED, and the only coworker he can fucking **tolerate** is **_a SUSPECT for MURDER!  
_  
**

God, what the hell? It wasn't even noon yet! And now, after all this insane fucking bullshit, Dave Strider, actor, the most irritating man in the world, would _not_ get away from his desk. Was it even Karkat's desk anymore? Was he fired or something? His train of thought was interrupted by Dave's stupid _(stupidly attractive)_ voice droning on about...something? 

"So yeah, he was the funniest kid when he was younger, he-"

"Dave, what the hell are talking about?" Karkat snapped.

"Weren't you _listening_?"

"No, _Dave_ , I was thinking about whether or not I'm going to have a _job_ now, since our boss just got _murdered_. Some people need money to _survive_."

"Oh."

"Yeah, _oh_! I come into work one day, my boss has been bludgeoned to death, and everyone is saying Roxy did-"

"Jesus, you don't _believe_ that, do you? You know Roxy would never- she could never do that."

"Dave, she's got to be a suspect for a reason. I mean, didn't someone say she was walking down the street alone at like ten that night? That's not something people do."

"Karkat. Vantas. Karkitty. Roxy didn't do it, ok? You have to believe me. I know where she was, and god, I wish I could tell you why, but I know she didn't do it."

Dave, pleading, grabs Karkat's hands in his own. They're gentle- soft and cool to the touch- and he feels his heart skip a beat. He yanks them back before Dave can notice the blush spreading across his cheeks, and for a moment, Karkat swears he can see Dave's expression fall.

"Dave, I know she's your sister-"

"Half. Half-sister."

He's twisting his hands, now, as though he doesn't know what to do with them after that. Karkat feels a spark of regret rise in his chest.

"Fine, _half_ -sister- but even if I believe you, does anyone else? This isn't some tabloid scandal, Dave. This is a murder case. Tell it to that weird peppy detective or something, not me."

Dave turned away, jaw set, and Karkat suddenly had the feeling that he'd said something irreparably wrong. 

"Look, Dave, I'm sorry, but it's _true_."

"It's...fine. Don't worry about it."

As he walked away, Karkat heard him whisper something, like the things you say to yourself in the hopes that someone will be listening.

"And his name is John."

"What did you say?"

"Nothing, Vantas. It...it was nothing. Maybe you should just head home now. There's not really anything left to do here, right?"

Dave pushes his sunglasses back up his nose with just a touch too much force- Karkat swears that he swiped away a tear underneath them. He wonders for a second what his eyes look like under them. 

"I think I'll do that. See you tomorrow- well, maybe."

Just before Karkat steps out the door, he feels a hand grab his shoulder.

"The investigator. His name...His name is John. We were...friends. As kids. He doesn't think Roxy did it either, really- at least, I don't think so. I...He was the one I was talking about. Earlier."

Karkat hesitates for a moment, wondering what his ink-stained hands would look like intertwined with the one clutching the shoulder of his worn-out jumper. He pushes the thoughts back as quick as they come, but it's still a second too long. Dave pulls his hand back like he's been burnt and turns his head away.

"Sorry. I'll...see you around?"

Karkat feels everything he wants to say on the tip of his tongue. He wants to tell Dave that he has nothing to apologize for ( _that Karkat wants to kiss him)-_ that Karkat understands _(that Karkat thinks Dave's adorable in the annoyingly cute way)_ \- that Karkat hopes everything goes well for him _(that Karkat might be in love with him)_. He doesn't- just gives Dave a nod and a sad little half-smile, and tries to put all his intentions into what he can say.

"I'll...see you around too."

When Karkat steps out onto the sidewalk, oddly bright in the mid-morning sunlight, he lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He tries to think of something else than the world around him as he wanders back home through the streets. He's always writing- spinning out threads of romances _(romances he doesn't get to have, he reminds himself)_ in his head. It's not really practical- after all, out of the stacks of typewriter manuscripts of novels and screenplays filling his bookshelves, only one has ever been bought- and the man who bought it is currently stone-cold in a morgue. 

Still, his mind keeps on going back to Dave- to his lean, sturdy build, his easy laughter, his idiotic sunglasses and his warm oxblood eyes behind them. He thinks about how, sometimes, he can feel those eyes watching him writing at his desk. He is so lost in thought, in fact, that he almost doesn't notice where he's gone. 

His absentminded walk has taken him to Holy Dolorosa's Home for the Infirm- and the place he, as the pastor's son, spent the first 19 years of his life. Karkat feels his heart drop into his stomach, then past that, down onto the rough stone path to lay at his feet. It looks so different than it does on the nights where he walks past, trying not to look into the cheerily-lit windows- so different than it did two years ago when he ran out the door in the middle of the night. 

He wonders what it would be like, to go back now. He could, of course. Nothing is stopping him- at least not physically. Wouldn't it be nice? To see everyone again? He wants to go in, his chest aching with the weight of it- he wants to go in, listen to whatever trouble Terezi's gotten herself into, chat with Gamzee and look at whatever odd paintings he's filled his sketchbook with this time. He misses his family- at least, what his family used to be. He misses his sisters, his mother, his father, maybe even his brother- and he misses all the people that were just like family to him. Did any of them wish he would come back? Or were they better off without him? 

God, it still felt like home, didn't it? He can hear the chatter of one of Nepeta's tea parties in the back garden- he knows that if he walked through the gate, she'd pounce on him with a hug- she'd tell him about what her cat had hunted for her, who she thought could be sweethearts with who, anything and everything. She was his little sister- the one he'd come home with a bloody nose and a sheepish grin to protect back in school. The year-round blooming honeysuckle Kanaya and Porrim had picked out and gotten them all to help plant out front was filling the air with hazy sweetness.

He rips himself away from the sunlit vision- Karkat _knows_ why he can't go back- it's something that Karkat tells himself every time he passes by. He runs down the street like he's been broken from a trance, and he knows Nepeta has seen him- she yells his name from up the narrow avenue, and Karkat slips into an alley to catch his breath. He can hear her, crying out for him to come back- how Kanaya is drawn out by the noise, and how she must know what's happened- he can almost see it now. 

Kanaya would look around then bundle Nepeta into the house for a calming cup of tea. Nepeta wouldn't understand why he'd run- she was almost certainly still the baby of the family, tears dripping into her tea, her eyes brimful. She was a young lady now, seventeen this August, but she'd still feel things as deeply- as intensely- as she always had. Kanaya would be the fantastic older sister as always- giving soft platitudes and comforting words, but still glancing through the window to see if he'd come back. Kanaya was only human, after all, and they'd always been close. She'd understand why he had to go, though. They both remembered the same story, after all.

_It was Kanaya's sixteenth birthday, a warm September afternoon six years ago. According to the calendar Kanaya kept in her room, hanging over her older sister's empty bed, it had been exactly five months, three weeks, and four days since Porrim had left home. Kanaya was in the sitting room on a rare break with Karkat and Nepeta when she heard a knock on the door. She saw Porrim through the stained-glass parlour window and rushed to the door, but she was too late. Kankri had gotten there first. He was always the one most harshly set against her disappearance._

_"What good woman of Christ," he'd yell over the dinner table, "would leave home in the dead of night to go sing?" _

He stepped out of the alley once he was sure that Nepeta and Kanaya were back inside, and Karkat started walking to his boarding-house- he hadn't started thinking of it as home quite yet. He took the other route- it was farther. Right now, he thought, that was a good thing.

_Karkat saw it as he rounded the corner, just after Kanaya. Porrim was standing on the steps, holding a package in green-stamped wrapping paper. When Kankri opened the door, she hardly had time to open her mouth before he'd shoved her away, down the steps and skidding over the sidewalk, just barely stopping before the bustling road. The beads on her evening gown- the one she'd spent a year sewing under tables and late at night to go dancing in- caught on the rough brick and snapped, falling off the fabric in sheets and scattering on the ground. Kanaya stepped towards her to help, almost instinctively, but Kankri slammed the door, the rose-embalmed cross on the stained glass shaking._

_Kankri yelled something indistinct and cruel at Kanaya- the loudest Karkat had ever heard him- and she stepped backwards slowly, tears streaming down her face, then turned tail and fled up the stairs to the bedroom she'd used to share with Porrim. Kankri saw Karkat staring, then snapped that he'd be in the chapel if he was needed, his voice's unsteadiness betraying him. Karkat stepped through the door quietly to try and help- he could see his sister's palms being scraped bloody on the rough cement as she tried to gather the fallen beads. They looked like the glass and jade ones Aunt Rosa had given her from Italy at the twins' christening a few months before the fever struck- one of her most precious possessions. She shook her head when she saw him. With a sad smile on her face, she gave up on trying to save the last of the beads, watching them scatter into the road and gutter._

_"Give this to Kanaya for me," she whispered as she slipped the package into his hands. It was the last time he'd ever spoken to her, and he stood on the sidewalk for far too long, watching her walk away. Karkat left the package under Kanaya's bed that night- she wore the shawl that was in it to breakfast the next morning over her nightgown, her eyes still puffy from crying. It was a beautiful thing- rich with embroidery in a rainbow of flowers on fine silk, with tiny seed beads along the hems over soft woollen fringe. She'd always been good at that kind of work- she was the one that taught Kanaya, after all, but the materials must have cost Porrim months of wages. Kankri didn't mention it- how could he have? Kanaya wouldn't speak to him for weeks on end afterwards._

_That Christmas, Nepeta- she was only twelve then- gave Kanaya a necklace of the jade and glass beads she'd spent hours outside looking for in the front yard. Kanaya ran out of the room in tears, but when Nepeta brought it to her room, she thanked her with a watery smile and kept it in her jewel-box. Kankri didn't get a present from Kanaya that year, but she'd left one for Porrim under the tree. Kanaya never let anybody celebrate her birthday after that._

Karkat was getting closer to his destination now- he could see the dingy boards of it lying across the tracks. Lost in thought and memory, the chilly sunshine of the December day kept shocking him when he was startled from his reverie. 

_Karkat knew Kankri never really forgave himself for what he'd done, either. He still remembers how one night, he woke up to Kankri sobbing, kneeling hunched by his bed in prayer, his shoulders shaking, his breaths harsh and ragged. How when Karkat placed a hand on his shoulder, Kankri slapped him in angry shock. How Kankri withdrew then, clutching at his own wrist as though Kankri was holding back a monster- how he stared down at his own hand wide-eyed. He wouldn't meet Karkat's eyes- or his father's- for a week after that._

_He remembers how Kankri went through half a year's worth of candles in a month after that, staying up late every night saying penance for wrath, for cruelty, for unforgiveness, and for something else he always whispered too quietly for Karkat to hear. It was as though Kankri wasn't quite sure he wanted the Lord to know what he'd done either. Karkat thought he might know- it wasn't something about Porrim, either._

_Father had coaxed Kankri into getting a job to pay him back for the candles that next summer, so Kankri had tutored the older Ampora boy, Cronus, the one everyone said was a bad influence. One night, when Karkat had taken over his father's confession booth for the night, he heard Kankri give a confession, spoken in that odd little voice he'd used to tell ghost stories late at night as a child. Kankri was crying, his voice shaking, as Kankri said how Kankri had always thought of the Holy Spirit's gift of love as a trial, but how last night, Kankri had kissed a boy- how Kankri wanted to do more. How he couldn't bear his thoughts anymore- how that final, greatest sin was always still lingering in the back of his mind now._

_When his brother begged for penance to clear his mind afterwards, it didn't feel like the Lord was the only one Kankri was hoping for forgiveness for. Karkat was speechless for a few minutes after that. He had no idea what to say- and maybe, in the back of his head, he was wondering if he felt like that about boys too. In Karkat's best impression of his father, he told Kankri to say his rosary five times a night until his thoughts were gone, and Karkat heard those five rosaries every night from Kankri's bedside until the night he left._

_The first time Karkat looked at his best friend Sollux and thought about kissing him, he started saying five rosaries every night too. That was when he started writing- at least, writing seriously. After all, Karkat knew sinners like him didn't get happy endings. Why not let somebody else have all the ones he wanted? Karkat didn't pray anymore, not after leaving home, but still felt the urge to start whispering Hail Marys over a string of beads whenever he looked at another boy and heard the lines of the book of Levithan ringing through his head (an abomination)._

Karkat was at the boarding-house now, and he climbed the steep stairwell at the back of the front room. He didn't say a word to anyone. Nobody noticed, really, and if they did, they didn't mention it. That was just what he was like- prickly, reclusive, always up in his room, tapping away at his typewriter. His own room at the house is small, cramped, but cozy. There is a tall bookshelf in the corner, half-full of books and half-full of typed manuscripts. There's a little desk shoved into the corner covered in messy papers and a metal-framed cot pressed against the wall. A small dresser serves as his nightstand too. It's sparsely decorated, same as the room- his writing doesn't pay well- but in a little earthenware dish, there is a fine pair of lady's earrings- silver raindrops set with bright opal and jade. At the sight of them, he is sent back into the past again- a violent push, not by choice- into a night he always hates remembering.

_Karkat is having an argument with Kankri again- the same one as always. Gamzee is sitting in the corner, watching with an air of mournful sorrow. Kanaya had ushered everyone else out of the room to do a vague "something" somewhere else, but Gamzee had wanted to stay here- he was always a loyal friend._

_"Kankri, you can't treat them all like animals! It doesn't work that way!" _

_"Well, what do you expect me to do then? It's not like you do anything for the place.  You're always gallivanting off with the patients anyways! Shouldn't that have fixed them by now?" _

_"Oh, you mean talking? To people? Well, my sincerest apologies for trying to act like people with disabilities are people and not fucking children that need to be saved from themselves by the holy, righteous me! I'm sure we'd all do better with your attitude! _

_"Don't sass me, Karkat, and don't curse in front of the invalids- how many times do I have to tell you that!?"_

_"How many times do I have to tell you to not call them invalids like they're something subhuman!?" _

_Gamzee starts to look worried now, uncomfortable with the rising volume. The tension is as thick as a knife. In the other room, Kanaya's hands still from her mending, and Nepeta can't read out her storybook any longer with all the noise. Meulin signs that she can feel their voices rattling the walls. Kurloz starts to sign something back, but he seems to not know what to say. Tavros twists his hands nervously in his lap, and Terezi looks as though she's considering covering her ears- her pride is combating it, but the noise grates on her keen hearing. Mituna is shaking, and Latula ended her shift at least a half-hour ago, but she's holding his hand tightly, trying her best to comfort him with no success._

_Kanaya, Nepeta and Meulin all share a glance- they know their parents are out for tonight. They all know that if this goes too far, there is nobody there who can stop it._

_"Well, at least we're giving them a place to stay! We don't think they ought to be put out on the street or gotten rid of! How many people can say that!?" _

_"Oh, so that's the standard now? Not taking people out behind the woodshed and shooting them down like rabid dogs? Well, why didn't you just fucking say so!?" _

" _Karkat Vantas , that is not what I meant, and you know it!" _

_"Then what in God's name did you fucking mean!?" _

_"Don't take the Lord's name in vain- what are you, a child? Maybe if you helped a little more instead of just sitting up at your desk all the live-long day writing those sinful little novels, I'd be willing to take a suggestion from you!" _

" _Well, maybe I have a reason to write, Kankri!" _

_"Oh sure, a reason. What on Earth could that be, then? Go on. Tell us. We're all waiting, Karkat." _

_"Well, maybe you should tell us why you spend every night sneaking out to that Ampora boy's place and every day saying penance in the chapel, Kankri. How about that?" _

_"If you're just going to blaspheme and make baseless accusations-"_

_"Look me in the fucking eyes, Kankri, they're not baseless, and you know it-"_

_"Maybe you should leave. I'm sure we'd be just fine without you. Look, you've made your little sister cry! Are you proud of yourself? Is this what you wanted?" _

_Nepeta is standing at the door of the dead-silent kitchen and, true to Kankri's word, tears are welling up in Nepeta's eyes- she's never liked yelling much. Inside the kitchen is a scene of abject terror- Kankri and Karkat's fights are always explosive, always dig a bit too deep, but they've never gone this far. Kanaya begins to stand up from the rocking chair where she's been listening, its rockers etching marks into the linoleum._

_"Karkat, Kanrki, this has gone too far, you two need to-"_

_"You know what? Maybe I will leave." _

_Nepeta lets out a tiny gasp, tears streaming freely now, and Terezi is feeling for her cane on the floor where she's sitting, confused and halfway into shock. Kanaya is taken aback, staggering back into an armchair in the corner, and for all the world, she looks like she's just had her heart ripped out. Gamzee stands up shakily, and he towers over them both, but he still has a gentle aura about him despite the signs of fear creeping into his expression._

" _Kar-bro, you need to relax, alright? Deep breaths, it doesn't help anything if you-"_

_"Don't get involved in this, you little-"_

_"Kankri, if you're about to call him what I think you're about to, I swear to God-" _

_Then, suddenly, Karkat and Kankri are flying at each other, fists clenched, and there is blood on the floor and spattering on the rug- a vase has fallen and shattered, but Karkat doesn't hear it, hears nothing but the rush of blood in his ears and sees nothing but his vision going red._

_He hits Kankri, Kankri hits him, and then there's the adrenaline pumping through him now- it feels like a release of resentment, a wall ripped out of his mind. Kanaya and Nepeta and Gamzee are trying to stop the fight, desperately pulling at them, pulling them back from each other but to no avail. There is fear resounding through the house, the collective, unsaid thought- " I think this might be the day they kill each other."  _

_Then, suddenly, it is over, and their father is standing between them, pushing them both back- his coat is still on, and his mother is standing in the doorway with a lace-gloved hand over her mouth in a perfect mirror of Nepeta's expression._

_"What's the meaning of this? I thought I raised you two right, but I come home after one evening out, and two grown men are beating each other half-to-death on the floor like  children! Why on  Earth-" _

_"I'm leaving. I'll be back for my things in the morning."_

_Karkat seems as shocked by his interruption as everyone else, but he doesn't freeze- no, he runs, grabbing his coat and rushing out through the open door into the January night. He's sure they said something to him as he left. He didn't stay long enough to hear._

_Karkat doesn't go anywhere that night- he doesn't have anywhere to go. He wanders around the streets until dawn when he walks over to the seedy part of town and puts a claim down on a tiny room in a gritty, foul little boarding-house without looking at it. It is the kind of thing his mother would warn him not to do. He doesn't think it matters anymore. _

_That day, Karkat picks up his things from a silent house. His mother, Meulin, and Nepeta are weeping quietly together in the corner like mourners at a funeral. They always were birds of a feather. His mother clutches his hands and tearily wishes him well, and Meulin signs something so fast that he can't even start to see it then wraps her arms around him, tears staining his shoulder, but Nepeta? She won't even meet his eyes- she just stands there, weeping and wringing her hands, like an eerily quiet banshee. Karkat wants, more than anything, to reach out and comfort her- to hug her goodbye. He does not do it._

_His father stands alone at the entrance, and all he has for him is a sad smile and a nod. He slips some money into Karkat's hand, to tide him over, and at first, Karkat tries not to take it, but his father insists. He says that any young man leaving home ought to have something to spare. Both of them know that this isn't what that journey's supposed to be- how the promise of independence just means "don't come back" for Karkat now. Neither of them mentions it. Kankri isn't there. His father tells him that he's off in the chapel. It's where Karkat expected him to be. When he asks where Gamzee is, his father shakes his head._

_He says that Gamzee had had another fit last night after he left- that he was in one of the empty, locking rooms in the east wing, just for a little while. Karkat wants to try and get his best friend out- hadn't anybody_ _listened to Gamzee when he'd pleaded not to be taken back to the rooms like always? Listened to Gamzee when he talked about how the voices in his head echoed and magnified against bare walls? About how his thoughts grew and grew and grew, creeping along the bare floorboards until he was banging his head and trying to knock himself out on the wall to get them out? _

_Karkat wants to go in- to break down the door like a cheesy cinema thriller- to rescue Gamzee, take him somewhere where people understand him, where they can help him, and for half a moment, he considers it. Still, he knows he can't. He hopes that Gamzee understands- that he somehow, through one of his little miracles, understands that Karkat would have saved him if he could- that Karkat wanted to say goodbye._

_He has to look to find Terezi next- she is sitting in a windowsill upstairs, and her hands are wrung still, her cane against the wall, and her head is turned to the window, her eyes unseeing. She makes one of her sharp little quips, and he laughs, and for a moment, it feels like nothing has happened- like the inexorably separate Before. He tells her that, somehow, he's going to stay in touch. She tells him she knows he won't. He knows she's right. They don't say goodbye._

_He grabs his things from his room after that- in a way, he supposes he's postponing the end. He doesn't think it'll be a lot- he grabs three carpet-bags from the shelf. The first is filled with clothes- the second with his writing things. It is idle work, packing it all neatly. Karkat tries not to think about the memories attached to each. He had made sure to get a third carpet-bag for any sentimental things, and when it's time to pack it, Karkat picks up the photo from his desk. It is his favourite- a family photo from years ago, taken after the twins came and before the fevers did. They all look so happy in that one- perhaps it's because they were. His heart aches just thinking of a simpler time. Aunt Rosa stands by his father- it's hard to believe that a year after that, she'd be buried with the rosy-cheeked babies Meulin and Porrim are holding. If he could step into any photograph, it would be this one, but he knows how much time has passed. Karkat can't go back in time, and once Karkat leaves the house, can't come back here either. It is a simple reminder- he's seen his youngest sisters' grave more times than he can count._

_"Dolores and Faith Vantas. Born in 1916. Died in 1918. Angels that went home too soon."_

_On his way downstairs, Karkat puts the third, empty carpet-bag back on the shelf where it came from._

_The last person Karkat says goodbye to is Kanaya. It feels like the end. She is sitting in the parlour, dressed in her mourning best and the shawl from Porrim. Her face is blanched with grief, and Karkat wishes he could help her. This is the fourth sibling she's lost- each one was someone she was close to. What can he say to that? To his loss, so keenly felt? Sorry, somehow, doesn't feel like enough. They sit together in silence for a while. His sister does not meet his eye, and he sees her raise her hand to her throat- he knows it's the necklace of fallen beads from so many years ago. When he stands up to leave, she half-whispers the only words she's uttered all day._

_"Wait. Take these."_

_In Kanaya's hand are her earrings- raindrops of jade and opal and silver. They have always meant the world to her- an heirloom, passed from her grandmother to her aunt to her. Karkat knows what she wants him to do- take them. Sell them. Whatever you have to do to survive. A look in her eyes harbours no resistance, so he takes them slowly, hand lingering._

_"Kanaya, are you sure? I know how much these meant to you."_

_"Yes. I am sure."_

_When he walks out the door and says goodbye, she does not answer. Through the parlour window, he sees Nepeta walk in and sit with her. He turns away. He does not look back. If he did, he's not sure he'd be able to take his eyes off of the house again._

Karkat wakes as if from a dream on his floor, kneeling leant against his bedside. He's had another flashback. It always feels as though he's been disconnected from the world for a while after one of these. As though his tether's split by emotion. It scares him, this distance- still, he knows enough to know that all he can fix it with is time- and not even always that. He sits at his desk from noon that day till late at night, but somehow every word he puts down sounds...wrong, somehow. He wishes he hated his flashbacks more- he really does. It is hours out of his time now used to remember a time that hurt him deeply, but he can never quite seem to despise them. He still gets homesick sometimes, and seeing it again- despite the circumstances- always makes him feel better.

When Karkat Vantas goes to sleep that night, he dreams of Dave Strider's eyes and his old bedroom in the attic. He rouses himself from his sleep in the middle of the night after that. When he sleeps again, he dreams of nothing at all- just as he wanted. 

Our stories all intertwine, dearest reader, but I will not lie to you and say that they are all fair. That doesn't mean we can't change the endings, though. Sometimes, bumping into another path is all it takes to add a twist to yours. It is strange, writing from within a world to people outside of it- it unsettles me, to know that within the streets of this city, a young man I feel as though I know lies in complete devastation, and I am helpless to stop it- a conduit for a plotline I do not control. Still, it is my duty- I must do it well. The night is sinking on us in black velvet, dear reader, and I must bid you a good night. Until next time, I remain:  
Your loving author,  
W.Q. Skaia

**Author's Note:**

> Though he did not know it at the time, dear reader, John's suspicions were correct- this would be no ordinary case. The strings of fate are always knotting, intertwining with those around us, but when tragedy strikes, we must unravel them- such is the fate of those left behind. Change is a fickle thing by nature, but it brings both good and bad- time will tell where that balance lies for our heroes, waiting unaware. Perhaps I, too, will be dragged into this fate- I am more character than a creator in this tale. That is the way, I suppose, it always goes.  
> Signed, your loving author-  
> W.Q. Skaia


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